


loaded god complex

by izzygone



Series: just rovinsky things [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Breathplay, Deepthroating, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, Gunplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roughness, Unsafe Sex, do not try this at home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7927951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzygone/pseuds/izzygone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GUNPLAY. THAT'S IT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	loaded god complex

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the 2nd part in my rovinsky "aesthetics" series. This one is based on just the prompt "guns." Because guns are sexy. I definitely have a gun kink, but I'm American so it's okay.
> 
> There's no real connection between this and any other part of the series. Any resemblance of plot is entirely accidental.
> 
> I made no attempt to find a beta for this.
> 
> Before you read: THIS IS VERY UNSAFE. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.

Ronan wakes to the sound of a gun being cocked. He opens his eyes to see it, Kavinsky’s beautiful forgery, _dream killer_ , though the muzzle is too close for his eyes to properly focus on the words.

“Wakey, wakey,” Kavinsky says. Ronan blinks a couple of times. He’s awake, goddamnit. K rattles the gun in the general direction of his forehead, “Wake up! Today’s lesson: how to stop being a little bitch. Open your mouth.” 

Ronan blinks again. He’s annoyed because he’s literally _just_ woken up. He can barely fucking breathe, let alone move. If he could move, he’d deck Kavinsky right across the fucking face. What is he doing, waving that gun around?

“Open your fucking mouth, fag.” Kavinsky shakes the gun pointedly.

Now Ronan’s even more annoyed, but he decides to humor Kavinsky and _try_ to open his mouth, not for Kavinsky’s sake but so that he can let that asshole know how he feels about getting woken up prematurely. So he tries. Without success. 

“Don’t fucking think, fucking _do_ ,” K presses the muzzle directly to Ronan’s forehead.

The metal is a cool shock against his skin. He has zero doubts it’s loaded. He opens his mouth, it’s automatic. He doesn’t even think, he just complies.

 _Interesting_.

Above him, Kavinsky grins, wild and vicious, “That’s what I fucking thought.” The gun is suddenly off Ronan’s skin and _shit_ , in his mouth. Kavinsky points the barrel right down his throat, and Ronan reflexively swallows. He can taste metal and gun oil and _fuck_. He can’t help it. He tongues at the gun. It doesn’t fit in his mouth well. It stretches his lips a little uncomfortably because of the angle K’s got it at, but that doesn’t stop his vision from whiting out a bit at the idea of it.

Normally, Ronan can’t move a goddamn bone in his body for the first 5, 10 minutes of waking. Right now, he can _definitely_ feel parts of him waking up prematurely.

He swallows around the gun a few more times. Let’s his tongue flick over the barrel, let’s out an involuntary moan.

“Fuck, you love this, don’t you? You little fucking slut.” Kavinsky shoves the gun just a little further down Ronan’s throat, and he has to swallow around his gag reflex. Then K starts moving the gun, in and out, fucking Ronan’s mouth.

Ronan knows he should be terrified. Kavinsky’s untrustworthy on the best of days, let alone with a gun, but, well, fuck it. 

It was kind of nice, putting his life in someone else’s hands.

After a minute, Ronan knows both he and Kavinsky are hard enough to hammer the nails in their own coffins, and K pulls the gun back. He brandishes it in Ronan’s face again, “Get on your knees.”

It’s no trouble at all to slide off the bed and onto his knees. They’re in Kavinsky’s bedroom. Ronan had fallen asleep there after they’d come back from a particularly wild substance party and, at the time, he thought he’d dream up some kind of hangover cure.

Obviously, he’d failed to bring that particular miracle back with him.

This would have to do.

K’s got his pants off already, and he tugs his dick out of his boxers in a single fluid motion. Then he wipes the gun off on Ronan’s shoulder, like his saliva is a dirty, disgusting thing. Ronan kind of grins at that because he knows he’s about to get that filth all over Kavinsky, too.

Kavinsky presses the gun back against Ronan’s skin, “Stop fucking smiling and open your fucking mouth, slut.”

Ronan does as he’s told. Not because of the threat of the gun, not really, though it will make justifying this to himself easier later on. 

As soon as his mouth is open again, K’s dick is in there. This doesn’t surprise Ronan, not really, though the speed and roughness of the movement throws him a little off balance and he makes a choking noise. Kavinsky’s got the gun against Ronan’s temple and he sort of twists it a little, digging it into Ronan’s skull as he fucks Ronan’s mouth.

Ronan moans again. Kavinsky is possibly getting off on this more than Ronan is. But only just barely.

Ronan’s hard in his boxers and he reaches down to palm himself. Abruptly, Kavinsky pulls the gun back then brings it down hard against Ronan’s cheek, pistol-whipping the fight right out of him.

“Did I say you could fucking move?” Around the dick stretching his lips wide, Ronan shakes his head no. “Then what the fuck are you doing?” Ronan releases his grip on his own dick immediately and clasps his hands behind his back, “That’s what I fucking thought,” K says, though it seems to be mostly to himself. He starts thrusting into Ronan’s mouth again, roughly and without any hint of mercy. He rubs the gun along the outside of Ronan’s cheek, and there’s no doubt he can feel it against his dick in Ronan’s mouth.

That makes Ronan moan again. There’s a fucking gun to his face and the dick of a guy he doesn’t even _like_ in his mouth and he should be terrified and angry. He should be thinking of a way to get out of here, a way to fight this. He _should_ be a lot of things. What he is, is fucking burning up with how much he wants it. He can feel his dick twitching and drooling out precome uncontrollably, making his boxers stick to him almost uncomfortably. He might be embarrassed by his desperation if he had it in him to give a fuck about anything at all.

Kavinsky presses the gun against Ronan’s forehead again and grinds his dick down Ronan’s throat, cutting his air off almost completely. “I could kill you,” he says. Ronan moans in agreement, “I could kill you right now, and no one would give a fuck. I could dream up a new you and no one would even fucking know, even fucking care.” Ronan doesn’t really disagree, just swallows around the intrusion and nods. He wonders, sometimes, why Kavinsky hasn’t done that already. “Maybe I’d make two. One for me, one for Gansey.”

Any mention of Richard Gansey the Third incensed Kavinsky, even when he was doing the mentioning, and Ronan could feel the fire flowing through K’s veins at the mere thought. He feels K’s other hand on the back of his head, holding him still, giving him a good grip with which to start _really_ thrusting. His hips go a little wild and Ronan lets himself be used, wonders which will kill him first: the gun in Kavinsky’s hand or the lack of air in his lungs. He can hear Kavinsky’s finger squeezing at the trigger, not quite hard enough to pull it, just enough for the threat of it. He’s wondering what that trigger finger will do if Kavinsky loses control when it happens. Kavinsky comes, sloppy and thick directly down Ronan’s throat. He pulls out just quick enough that there’s enough to paint Ronan’s face with it, some of it clumping in his eyelashes and _yeah_. Kavinsky didn’t pull the trigger but it was _so close_ Ronan could literally taste it.

K steps back, pulling the gun away from Ronan’s skin but pointing it at him from a small distance away. He nods in the general direction of Ronan’s dick, and Ronan doesn’t need any further instructions. He’s already so hard, it hurts a little just to touch himself, but he _needs_ it. He’s looking down the barrel of the gun and he can’t tell if the wetness on his face is just from the come there or if maybe he’s crying a little. He strokes himself a couple of times, and Kavinsky points the gun and takes a shot. The BANG of it nearly knocks Ronan off his knees as the bullet grazes the very edge of his ear. He’s not sure which thing makes him black out, the pain or the fact that he comes harder than he ever has _in his life_.

When he wakes up the next time, he’s still on the floor. K left him there, half naked and covered in come. It’s the first time he’s able to get right up and walk away.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the-real-izzygone on tumblr. Please come talk to me.


End file.
